


I'm Filthy Like An Old Shoe

by hexagonad (ideserveyou)



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hair Washing, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2019057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/hexagonad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard is having trouble getting over his encounter with Eleanor. Vince and the Plan Pony figure out a way to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Filthy Like An Old Shoe

The Nabootique shutters squeak and clang as Vince pulls them down and locks them over the windows.  
  
Despite Vince’s best efforts at scrubbing, the message ‘Howard Moon Licks Balls For Money’ can still be read. But it doesn’t make Vince snigger. Not any more.  
  
He sighs, and goes back inside to turn the shop sign round to ‘Closed.’  
  
Howard is still standing behind the counter, staring vacantly into space and rubbing his hands together. He’s been doing that a lot over the past couple of days.  
  
‘Don’t forget to put the rubbish out,’ Naboo calls from the stockroom.  
  
This seems to stir Howard into some sort of action, and he limps upstairs, but he doesn’t go to the kitchen for the rubbish bag, he just shuts himself in his  bedroom.  
  
Vince empties the kitchen bin – another gesture that Howard will very likely ignore, but Vince has to keep trying – and plods downstairs with the smelly rubbish bag.  He’s put it in the designated rubbish area and is about to re-lock the shop door when there is a shuffle of footsteps and a rather breathless Howard is standing beside him with another black bin liner, bulging full and clearly heavy.  
  
‘What’s that? All the failed drafts of your latest novel?’  
  
Howard shakes his head, lifts the bag and chucks it into the street. It promptly splits; Howard curses, limps down the steps and starts trying to stuff the contents back inside.  
  
In the hope that perhaps actions will speak louder than words, Vince goes to help him.  
  
The spilled rubbish proves to be something that Vince himself has never thrown away in his life.  
  
‘ _Clothes?_  What d’you wanna do that for? I mean, I know they’re a fashion nightmare, but still, you could go to the recyclin’ skip or give them to a tramp or something.’  
  
‘Just...’ Howard shakes his head, frowning. ‘Just don’t ask. Just go and get another bin bag, OK?’  
  
Vince meekly fetches another bag. Howard stuffs the clothes in and ties it up; drops it on the pavement with an expression of Armenian Loathing.  
  
He’s rubbing his hands together again as they go upstairs.  
  
 ‘Kettle’s just boiled,’ Naboo says, from the depths of the sofa. ‘An’ I’ve got jaffa cakes.’  
  
‘Great! Cheers, Naboo.’ Vince pours tea into two mugs and offers Howard the packet of biscuits. Or are they cakes? Anyway they are irresistible.  
  
Howard just shakes his head.  
  
‘But you haven’t eaten anythin’ all day.’ Vince takes a jaffa cake out of the packet and wolfs it down in two bites. He shakes the packet in Howard’s direction. ‘Go on, there’s plenty left.’  
  
‘I’m not hungry. I – I need to go and get clean.’ Howard stumbles out of the door.  
  
‘What was that all about?’ Vince takes another jaffa cake, in case it helps him figure it out.  
  
It doesn’t.  
  
‘Actions speak louder than words,’ Naboo mutters. ‘And hand over the biscuits, if you’ve left me any.’  
  
‘They’re cakes.’ Vince sneaks another one out of the packet before taking it to Naboo.  
  
‘Whatever.’ Through the cloud of smoke from his hash pipe, Naboo frowns at Vince. ‘Vince, didn’t you hear what I said?’  
  
‘I gave you the cakes,’ Vince protests.  
  
‘Before that.’  
  
‘Something about action?’  
  
Vince reaches for the cakes (or are they biscuits?) but Naboo whips the packet swiftly out of his reach. ‘Yes, something about action. You need to do something about Howard.’  
  
‘What can I do? Half the time he won’t even talk to me, and the other half he doesn’t hear a word I say.’  
  
‘Well then, stop talking to him and do something instead.’  
  
‘I have been doin’ things. He just hasn’t been noticing.’  
  
‘Then you haven’t been doing enough.’ Naboo’s eyes have a steely glint in them. ‘An’ I’m fed up with Howard bein’ a miserable ballbag, an’ it’s your fault he’s bein’ a miserable ballbag, so if you don’t sort it out soon I’m gonna sack him permanently so I don’t have to see his miserable ballbag face no more. Am I making myself clear?’  
  
‘Yes, Naboo.’  
  
‘Oh good, I was a bit worried, this is a very strong batch of stuff, they don’t call it Negril Knockout for nothing.’ Naboo lies back against the sofa cushions. ‘Well, go on then, why are you still here? Oh... Yeah, OK, have an extra jaffa cake for luck. My shaman senses tell me you’re gonna need it.’  
  
The sugar swirls through Vince’s system, making his blood cells do little dances and putting cookery programmes on most of his mental TV channels.  The brain cell sits up straight in his chair, alert and focused; the secretary stops filing her nails, gets out a new notebook and a pen, and puts a call through to the Plan Pony.  
  
Howard is in the bathroom, hunched over the washbasin, scrubbing at his perfectly clean hands.  
  
‘You’ll make them sore.’ Vince reaches over Howard’s shoulder and deftly whisks the nailbrush out of his grasp. ‘Soap and water’s deadly for skin, look, you’re making them all cracked. I can give you some cream...’  
  
Howard doesn’t look up; he just tucks his hands under his armpits. ‘Go away.’  
  
‘What’s wrong?’  
  
Vince takes gentle hold of Howard’s elbow, but the big man pulls away. ‘Don’t touch me, I – I’m all filthy. I think I’ll have a shower,’ he mutters.  
  
‘Howard, you’ve had two showers an’ a bath already today. An’ yesterday there wasn’t any hot water left an’ Naboo blamed me, but it was you, wasn’t it?’  
  
‘Don’t –’  
  
‘Okay.’ Vince steps away, hands in the air. ‘I won’t. I’ll just go and get the hand cream.’  
  
‘I can still smell them on me,’ Howard says in a rush, as Vince is reaching for the door handle. ‘That green freak, and then her... And I don’t know which is worse.’  
  
‘Keep talking, Vince,’ the Plan Pony whispers.  
  
‘Piss or perfume?’ Vince babbles. ‘Hmmm, that’s a tough one to call. Depends on the perfume, some of  ’em cling like octopuses.’  
  
‘I could smell it all through the interview.’ Howard is shivering. ‘I was being grilled by Student Loans and I stank, I knew they could smell it too, they never said anything, but the way they looked at me...’  
  
Vince looks at the floor. ‘I’m sorry, Howard. It’s all been a bit of a nightmare for you. An’ it’s my fault they found you.’  
  
‘Writing my name on the shutters wasn’t the most friendly thing you’ve ever done, Vince.’ Howard heaves a huge sigh. ‘But what’s done is done. No point going on endlessly blaming you when we both know it was your fault. At least the loans people let me go with nothing worse than a payment plan.’  
  
‘That’s my cue,’ the Plan Pony neighs. ‘Now to put the plan into action, Vince.’  
  
‘I said I’d help you out with the payments, Howard, an’ I will. Hey, maybe I can help you out with the smell, too.’ Vince skips across to the bath, and turns the shower on. ‘I’ve got some products here that’ll shift anything, an’ I mean anything.’  
  
‘Not strawberry,’ Howard says.  
  
Vince rolls his eyes. ‘I could’ve predicted you’d say that. You Man of Action, you. I suppose you like manly fragrances like bay rum an’ sandalwood. Hmmm.’ He rummages in the rack beside the tub. ‘Citrus do you?’  
  
‘I suppose so. Thanks... Hey, what are you doing?’  
  
Vince drops his shirt on the floor; pauses with his hands at the buckle of his belt. ‘Well, I’m not about to wash your back fully dressed, am I? These skinnies’re new, they’ll run if they get wet an’ I’m not havin’ blue legs for anybody, not even for you.’  
  
‘But I...’ Howard’s expression could best be described as Goldfish Startlement.  
  
Vince laughs, and bolts the bathroom door. ‘Howard, there’s nothin’ inside these that you haven’t seen hundreds of times already. Get a move on, the hot water won’t last for ever.’  
  
‘I know, but...’  
  
‘Don’t stop now, Vince,’ the Plan Pony urges. ‘We’ve only got one shot at this.’  
  
Vince strips everything off and gets under the shower. ‘Look, d’you want to be clean or don’t you?’  
  
‘Yes.’ Howard looks vaguely surprised at the speed and certainty of his own reply.  
  
‘Well then.’ Vince pops the lid on the bottle of lemon shampoo, and strikes a pose. ‘Prepare to be amazed at the awesome power of Vince Noir’s cleansing routine... Oh.’  
  
‘What?’ Howard peers over his shoulder.  
  
‘She marked you.’ Vince tries not to look as Howard clambers awkwardly into the bathtub and faces the wall, but the scratches and crescent marks of fingernails are all too obvious on the pale, freckled skin of Howard’s back and shoulders, along with angry red patches and welts.  
  
He’s got similar marks on his hips and arse as well. And there are lovebites where no self-respecting man should have lovebites, the bruises turning yellowish at the edges but still plain to see.  
  
‘I’m sorry.’ Vince wishes he could just slide down the plughole, with the dirty water. ‘I shouldn’t’ve gone off like that, we’d got the money, I didn’t need to tag anyone else. An’ while I was gone, she made you do stuff –’  
  
‘It wasn’t... It doesn’t... doesn’t matter.’ Howard wrings his hands in the way that means another Chinese burn will be happening soon, as if his fingers and wrists weren’t already red and sore. ‘Don’t let’s talk about it. Just... wash off what you can wash off. And don’t look too closely at the rest.’ He rubs his wet hands over his face, and shuts his eyes. ‘Nobody needs to see that.’  
  
Vince washes Howard’s hair, very thoroughly, twice, until it’s squeaky clean when he rubs it between his fingers.  
  
Even when it’s wet, Howard’s hair is soft and fine. On an impulse, Vince stands on tiptoe and buries his face in it.  
  
‘What’re you doing?’ Howard backs away, every muscle suddenly tense.  
  
‘Just checking. Nope, I can’t smell anything, just clean hair and lemon.’ Howard relaxes a little, and Vince dares to move his face to Howard’s neck, breathing in his clean smell.  
  
Howard doesn’t run away, so Vince nuzzles behind his ear. ‘Still nothing... I’m just gonna check your ’tache,’ Vince murmurs.  
  
Howard nods, and turns round. His eyes are still tight shut.  
  
‘Go for it. But be careful,’ the Plan Pony whispers.  
  
Vince presses his face up against Howard’s, feeling that tickly moustache with the sensitive bit of skin right under his nose.  
  
‘Anything?’ Howard’s lips move against Vince’s cheek.  
  
‘Nope, nothin’.’ The Plan Pony is starting to look worried, so Vince tears himself away in case Howard starts to get worried too. ‘Now let’s sort out the rest of you.’  
  
Howard stands passively under the steaming water as Vince goes to work with lemon shower gel and a flannel.   
  
So this is what it means to be all over someone like a flannel. Vince smiles to himself as he scrubs briskly at Howard’s shoulders, Howard’s arms (not the hands, they look way too fragile), Howard’s underarms, Howard’s ribcage, Howard’s stomach, Howard’s happy trail...  
  
‘Vince,’ the Plan Pony hisses. ‘ _Vince_...’  
  
Vince looks up. Howard is watching him.  
  
‘You, erm, might wanna do the next bits yourself?’ Without waiting for a reply, Vince hands over the shower gel and busies himself washing Howard’s back and trying not to listen to the squelchy soapy noises Howard is making.  
  
‘Hey Howard, what’ve you been doin’ to yourself? Your skin’s red raw.’  
  
‘Brillo pad,’ Howard mutters, ‘and even then it wouldn’t come off.’  
  
Vince picks a soothing aloe gel out of the rack; smooths it over Howard’s back and shoulders.  
  
‘Has this put you off havin’ sex ever again?’ The words are out of Vince’s mouth before he can stop them; the Plan Pony facehoofs himself.  
  
Howard draws a deep breath. ‘We... didn’t exactly have sex.’  
  
‘Don’t ask,’ the Plan Pony mutters through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t... ask... what she made him do...’  
  
Vince keeps his mouth firmly shut, and makes a sound he hopes is a bit like a sympathetic murmur.  
  
‘I think I’ll... find it difficult to... you know...’ Howard puts the shower gel neatly back in the rack; hangs the flannel over the shower pipe. ‘To let someone else touch me.’  
  
‘I’m touching you.’  
  
‘Yes, but you’re not...’ Howard turns round and looks down. ‘Oh. You are.’  
  
Vince blushes, the heat spreading over his entire body. ‘It’s not what you think, Howard, I would never, not if you didn’t want, even if I wanted, I mean I do, but it isn’t...’  
  
‘STOP DIGGING!’ the Plan Pony shrieks.  
  
‘Never mind,’ Vince says hastily, ‘it’s just me babbling on after a sugar rush. Listen, d’you feel clean enough now? Shall I do your hair again?’  
  
Howard shakes his head. He’s blushing too, or maybe it’s just the steam. ‘I, um, I want... I mean, you were very thorough, you know, checking me over and everything, and it was nice. A nice gesture. Reassuring, I mean. Would you...’  
  
‘ _Thank_  you, Plan Pony,’ Vince breathes.  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘Nothing,’ Vince says hastily. ‘I mean, yes, of course, Howard, anything you want.’  
  
‘Well, in that case...’ A slightly scared half-smile twitches at the corners of Howard’s mouth. ‘If you don’t mind... there were some places you haven’t checked yet, and I’d appreciate...’  
  
A million words spring to Vince’s lips, but mindful of Naboo’s advice, he settles for taking action instead.  
  
‘ _That_  wasn’t in the plan,’ the Plan Pony neighs indignantly, and gallops away to sit and watch it all on the mental TV with the brain cell and his secretary.


End file.
